


Blood Drops and Coke

by Virtual_Delirium



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Day 1 - Reunion, F/M, ShuAnnWeek2k19, Shujinkō x Ann Week 2019, Vampire/Vampyre AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 06:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19420459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtual_Delirium/pseuds/Virtual_Delirium
Summary: "An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, and circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle. But it will never break." -Ancient Chinese proverb.





	Blood Drops and Coke

**Author's Note:**

> Given the nature of the Alternate Universe setting for this one-shot; mainly, Ann being a vampyre (yes, that is another way to spell it ), I have taken liberties in marrying her in-canon personality from the game, to the mind of a human predator from Europe.
> 
> This one-shot is set to today's Shujinkō x Ann Week theme, 'Reunion'. I got kinda cheeky about this one and made the reunion symbolic. This story happens in a span of 966 years.

Shujinkō x Ann Week

~Reunion~

"Blood Drops and Coke"

* * *

Time: 11:11 PM.

Date: 1050 AD.

Location: Lord Kamoshida's Castle, Kyoto.

Event: Local warlord dun fucked up and pisses off a powerful vampyre.

.

Snow waltzed with ash, spiralling in their slow ballroom dance towards the burning castle of fire and blood. Soldiers screamed. Swords shattered into shatter stars; their fragments thrown up against the twinkling night sky.

Inside the burning castle, the silhouettes of soldiers were seen through oil paper doors and walls, running with their weapons raised. Blood sprays slashed across entire corridors as many of them were dropped.

"Stop her!"

"We must keep milord safe from this evil!"

"Dieeeee- ARRRGH! . . .tell my wife. . .I love her. . .and that her tits. . .were the best. . ."

"Yato-sama! Nooo!"

"You bitch. . .I will avenge my fallen bro- YARGH!"

"Shit! She's killing us too easily!"

"Where's Kurusu!? We need him!"

Beams splintered and cracked, crashing onto the floor. A slender foot stepped over a beam, the red and pink yukata susurrating against her long legs. Weapons were raised. The soldiers backed up, their armour plates pressing against the barred bedroom doors of the warlord they served. Their faces were streaked with ash, blood and sweat. Eyes widened as the vampyre encroached closer. This was the monster which attacked them tonight.

Annabelle Camarilla Electro-Shot Eclair Takamaki, laughed cruelly at their cowering.

Her immortal visage was as untouched and beautiful as the world's truest sapphires. In the reddish nightmare frame of fire and destruction, Annabelle's ultramarine eyes stared down the warlord's men, its colour deepened by all the blood she had drunk, smarting lips in lacquer red. Blood drops of fallen comrades dripped from her fangs, exposed by her girlish mirth. For all the grime and death that coated her enemies, the vampyre appeared very untouched by the conflict. Even her blonde hair - of luxuriant curls in its unbridled sleek glow, remained impervious to the stray flotsams of ember.

The soldiers trembled, almost vibrating in their armour. None of them were strong enough to defeat her. The only one who could was not here. Yet.

Annabelle raised her blood-coated hand at the soldiers, wagging a finger.

"Step aside, mortals. My belligerence is to your master. Unless – you all wish to die?"

They refused to budge. The honour code of bushido held these soldiers together from running. Annabelle sighed. Perhaps a bit of macho stupidity was also part of that glue, she thought.

The soldiers hollered their war cries, charging at the vampyre.

#

The warlord gulped, hearing the cries of his men beyond the barricaded door. Screams of pain mixed with armour ripping, bones crunching, tearing and _squishing_. Then silence.

The doors blew off their hinges in a gust.

Her slender arm extended – tossing the head of one of the warlord's soldiers at his feet. Lord Kamoshida looked down, seeing that the man had suffered the indignity of having his penis stuffed into his mouth. Was that before or after this monster beheaded him? thought Kamoshida.

"That's going to be you in one minute," said Annabelle.

Kamoshida gritted his teeth. Between the folds of his robes, he gripped his silver-edge kogatana. His Shinto priests had told him the element could harm this unnatural thing. Where were the priests anyway?! Where was the rōnin?! They were supposed to seal away the vampyre by now!

"Why are you doing this?" growled Kamoshida, "-I heard the stories. The whispers. Of a foreign monster which arrived into the land of the rising sun's shores. Hiding in the deep valleys and waterfalls. They said you only fed on dying soldiers from war. Yet you come here for no reason and butcher my men!" spat Kamoshida.

She moved so fast, Kamoshida barely had time to draw out his kogatana. Annabelle threw him against the far end of the wall. Pain exploded at the back of Kamoshida's head. In disorientation and fright, Kamoshida tried to raise himself up, then collapsed, crying out when his dislocated shoulder denied him.

Kamoshida gasped, his vision flashing into negative colours then a fade-out into normal. Kamoshida became conscious of how his heartbeat was thumping slower. . .and. . .slower. The pain which was supposed to be finite – stretched out, its infinitesimal pulsations folding from a second, to an hour. . .to a week. . .further in. . .

To Annabelle, his one month was a few seconds to her.

In Kamoshida's tear streaked vision, he saw sparks skimming at the edge of Annabelle's pupils. Was this one of her powers? Slowing down the stimuli of time for her victims? Kamoshida wailed pathetically, begging her to stop.

Annabelle suspended the spell. It was not out of mercy. She needed Kamoshida lucid, so that he would _understand_.

"Two days ago, you visited a nearby village with your raiding party. You and your battalion took to coercion, murder and rape. There was a girl. She. . ." Annabelle paused.

Kamoshida thought he imagined it for she was a monster, but there were tears in the vampyre's eyes. He blinked several times. Annabelle's eyes were cold again.

". . .do you even remember? The name of the young life you pillaged and severed with casual cruelty?" the vampyre whispered.

Kamoshida frowned. The riverside village at the edge of the mountain. That was a good day, full of ploughing and drinking. One of Lord Kamoshida's men dragged to him a rice farmer's adolescent daughter for his enjoyment. A trembling thing, who would not stop crying. The little whore even had the gall to scratch him, which prompted a knuckle rap to her mouth. Kamoshida remembered the name that was screamed by old lady (Her grandmother, one of his lieutenants told him, after he killed her). It was. . .

"Shiho," rasped Kamoshida.

The vampyre nodded, trembling in rage. Tiny articles around the room - bottles, weapons, fans, scrolls; they began to vibrate. The floorboards groaned from the invisible rising kinetic energy. Kamoshida's eyes widened. Oh fuck. . .

"Yes. . .That's right," said Annabelle, raising her hands claw-like.

"Please! Spare me! I'll give you anything you wish! Treasures and privileges unlike-"

Annabelle's eyes widened with amplified fury.

"Treasures? You took away the only person who would show kindness to something like me-"

An arc of steel. Annabelle blurred. A disc edge slash appeared where she was once stood.

Akira Kurusu's eyes flickered right. She was behind him, plastered on the opposite wall like a spider. The rōnin lowered the blessed tachi. Akira slowly turned around to Annabelle. At his forearms, tattoos glowed like the inferno eating up the castle. A boon for a killer who wished to be strong. A curse for a man's soul. This rōnin was damned after his deceased master sparked the ire of a demigod.

"You bastard! What took you so long! I gave a master-less scum like you a barn to sleep in and a bowl of rice to eat every day! Yet your services are tardy on timing!" growled Kamoshida.

Akira tilted his head at the vampyre. A flaming piece of debris fell between them. Her beautiful face was set in a snarl, voluminous curls spread in momentous readiness to spring at him. Annabelle wanted to attack him brashly, but she held back - sensing this one was different. Akira smirked a little at that.

"Why did she attack?" asked Akira.

"That _thing_ is on a bloodthirsty rampage after ransacking a nearby village. Now it's out for more blood. What other reason would a monster need, you fool!" snapped Kamoshida.

Akira frowned. There was a kind of intelligence in the vampyre's eyes that made him think this was not a mindless monster. Not just intelligence, but there was something more to her. . .

 _Stop. Don't get distracted_ , the former samurai told himself.

Akira had encountered his share of supernatural creatures, having been cursed by the oni called Shido. A vampyre however – this was something from a far continent. Japan did not have those. Akira did not understand this mystery before him. Those blue eyes. . .Akira had never seen a person with that colour in his life. Annabelle seemed exotic to him.

And dangerous.

Kamoshida limped towards the exit. When Annabelle leaned to stop him, Akira raised his sword, the shining steel edge rippling in a liquid-like shimmer. Annabelle hissed, her fangs showing more pronounced. Who was this human? Why was he so fast? Those intense grey eyes never left her as Kamoshida stumbled out, assisted by the Shinto priests waiting by the door. Akira sensed one of the priest staring hard at the rōnin, reminding him about the plan. The rōnin nodded, still watching Annabelle. Akira needed to hold the vampyre in this room while the Shinto priests prepared the seal outside to put her away.

Annabelle and Akira were left alone, with licking flames as a coliseum audience.

Annabelle cursed. It did not matter. Kamoshida could not hide from her anyway, no matter how fast he ran. But first, she needed to deal with this raggedly dressed warrior.

The warrior surprised Annabelle when he spoke to her. Not because he addressed her, but because he took a tone of courteous deference. Annabelle was not used to that.

"What's your name?" asked Akira.

His voice was half-wary, half-curious. Annabelle grew suspicious. She was well familiar with the raging expressions of man's violent nature. All their twists and contortions by the eyebrows, grimacing cheeks and mouths. The death stares in battle. This samurai though appeared. . .docile. Despite the raised weapon. A trick?

"Can't talk? Heh. Very well. I'm Akira Kurusu. The most foolish man in all of Japan. And I'm here to kill you," said Akira.

"Foolish indeed, if you believe you can kill me," said Annabelle.

She could talk. Akira grinned.

"I'm Annabelle Camarilla Electro-Shot Eclair Takamaki, samurai," said Annabelle.

Akira was taken aback.

"That's a really long name," he said.

"Don't like it?" asked Annabelle.

Annabelle released her claw grips on the wall, the splintering wood chips falling loose. The way she floated back onto the ground was unnatural. Her yukata billowed majestically against the spread of her blonde hair.

"It sounds as dangerous as you are. Perhaps if we weren't enemies, I'd think of a short version for it," said Akira.

Akira's eyes narrowed. His blade tilted. The vampyre subtly placed one foot in front. She really planned to go for a direct charge. Was Annabelle underestimating him? Or maybe she was counting on a coup de grâce?

"If we weren't enemies," agreed Annabelle.

 _I almost like him. His bravery and strength. This is unfortunate_ , thought Annabelle.

"Maybe in another life, things would have been different," Akira said quietly.

 _One of us is going to die_ , Akira thought, grim.

"You're going to die for a terrible man, you know that?" said Annabelle.

"Heh. I'm a rōnin, not a samurai. _Bushido Shoshinshu_ demands we commit seppuku because a master-less samurai is a disgraced and volatile entity. I should be dead already, hunted down by warring parties of Kamoshida's army - since I refuse suicide. If not Kamoshida, another daimyō would have seen to it. The only reason I'm still alive. . .is because of him," Akira said bitterly.

"That's. . ."

"Which is why your over-confidence betrays you, Annabelle. I have thwarted death so far. I will thwart you," said Akira.

The rōnin charged, the tachi sweeping low.

#

Barrels pressed against the wall, rolled against the outer perimeter walls of the warlord's room. A nervous priest directed soldiers slugging water splashes from buckets, onto the casks of powder kegs and silver dust. Wood splintered and cackled, as the flames slowly ate up the castle. Time was running out for them to leave.

One of the soldiers; a messenger from outside, came running to the priest in charge. Before the messenger could get a word out, the priest asked him:

"Is Lord Kamoshida safe?"

"He is. I'm here to relay his orders. Also-" the messenger wiped the soot from his eyes, "-some bad news."

"A ripe night for bad news, isn't it?" said the priest.

Another priest hurried past them. This second priest began to apply the last glyphs on the floor, for the sealing incantatory kotodama on the vampyre.

"It shouldn't have been this bad! We're going to lose the castle!" said the messenger.

"What?!"

"The powder kegs in the basement. That huge stockpile was meant for the foreign invaders, were they to breach Japan's mainland. It's too late to take all of them out. This whole palace is going to blow up all the way to Takama-ga-hara!"

"But the seal. . .it's not ready!"

"The silver in those barrels should be enough to kill that thing," said the messenger.

The priest resisted the urge to curse. Now was not the time with all these bad things happening. He bellowed orders to the soldiers to stop what they were doing and run.

"The men are leaving now. Now we need to warn Kurusu-" began the priest.

"No," said the messenger, shaking his head.

The priest squinted, confused.

". . .no?"

The messenger's lip trembled. The eyes of the priest widened. Oh no. . .

"Lord Kamoshida. . .said that Kurusu must keep the vampyre in there until this place is destroyed," said the messenger.

"He won't survive that. . .Akira will die! Kamoshida knows that, yes?!" blurted the priest, breaking the courtesy of honorific that was duly-expected for their lordship.

". . ."

"Oh Kami. . ."

"Please Taro. . .we must go. . ."

#

Sparks glanced off Akira's blade, the titanium-like nails of Annabelle's hand dragging against the enchanted metal. The vampyre pressed harder, attempting to force the tachi close to Akira's eyes so that the sparks would blind him. The rōnin's wrists trembled – pushing back as hard as he could. Akira managed to parry her away, using every ounce of his supernatural, but inferior strength.

Each time their blows exchanged, a sub-sonic whine would emit from the straining tachi, akin to a musical triangle. The lyrics in Akira's mind were of admiration.

 _She's strong!_ thought Akira.

Every clash sent a near-numbing shock into Akira's arms. It was all he could do to shuffle his feet in backsteps and forward, raising his weapon for the next spar.

How much time did the priests need for the seal? It was taking longer than Akira anticipated. The escalating fire was worrying him too. Shido's curse did not grant the boon of being impervious to pyro.

Annabelle's foot nudged at his ankle on the sly hook. Akira went off-balance, flailing backwards like a drunkard outside a sake bar.

"Shit!" gasped Akira.

This was it. The vampyre was going to kill him here, thought Akira. What a failure of a samurai he was. He could not save his master. He could not even keep Annabelle busy long enough, like the priests wanted him to.

To Akira's surprise, death did not immediately arrive. Instead Annabelle rapped the tachi out of his hand, twirling the weapon into a pirouette impact against the wall. The sword buried halfway to the hilt, quivering. Her other hand grasped Akira by the back of the neck, suspending his backwards free-fall. Annabelle held him in a reverse-gender tango swoop. Akira's hair fluttered over confused eyes – blinking at the marble beauty leaning down towards him. This was no combat grapple. Annabelle was almost caressing him.

Her words however were menacing. Like fires sliding on twin slicks of icy fangs.

"Make no mistake, foolish rōnin. The sky's blackened arc will end with your throat ripped out," said Annabelle.

"You do have a way with men, don't you? Waxing romance with violent poetry," teased Akira.

Low-key; Akira felt for the dagger he kept hidden at the side of his robe. A heart under blade was all that was needed to get his tachi back. . .

"You said you would have christened me with a shortened name. . ." a light blush blooded on Annabelle's cheeks, ". . .what would your invocation have been?" asked Annabelle.

Akira's fingers brushed on the dagger's handle.

"That matters to you?" asked Akira.

"I'm. . .I'm just curious, OK?"

". . ."

When Akira tried to break out of Annabelle's hold, her long fingers clasped tighter. Annabelle's other hand grasped him by the jaw, forcing Akira to look her in the eyes. Akira swallowed. They told him one of the vampyre's powers was compulsion.

"I'm stronger than you, rōnin. You are cursed, but still human," scolded Annabelle.

"Stronger, yet you crave for little things from us, don't you?" said Akira.

Akira's grip curled around the dagger's handle. His words disarmed Annabelle.

"W-what?"

"You're holding me like someone starved for touch. Asking for that name? You want to be acknowledged in any little way possible, by anyone who shows you kindness. Baubles of love. You crave compassion and love, Annabelle," said Akira.

Annabelle's nails pressed dangerously hard into Akira's clavicle. For a moment, he feared he said the wrong thing. Blood slitted out his skin. Akira saw her pupils micro-shift at the sight of the red rivulet. Akira tensed, ready to shove the dagger in-

Annabelle released him, her motion betraying a reluctant energy. Akira fell onto his butt. Annabelle turned her gaze away. To Akira, she looked confused. Frustrated. Lonely. Akira had seen some of that himself, when he stared into a still lake's surface.

"Go," said Annabelle.

"What?"

"I'd rather not kill you, Akira. Leave now before I change my mind. The scent of your blood isn't helping too," said Annabelle.

"I can't. I'm supposed to hold you here-"

"Do you want to die?!"

"Why does it matter to you?! I'm a rōnin!"

"You idiot! I'm giving you a chance I've denied to hundreds of men!" shouted Annabelle.

The exclamation unsheathed Annabelle's fangs into longer visibility. Akira found it both scary and awesome.

 _Now's not the time to have a fear-boner_ , he thought to himself.

Akira exhaled.

"I don't want to die. . ." he admitted.

An explosion went off from the deep levels of the castle, rocking the entire structure of the place. In-between the gaps of the floorboards at the ceiling, silver dust trickled between like hourglass sand. Some of it landed on Annabelle's toes, creating a biting burn. Annabelle yelped, jumping back like a cat.

On the floor, glyph-lines started to glow, forming a pentagram-like circle. Sharp katakana lines slashed, spelling out evocations to Shinto deities and mantra – although there was something strange about it, as if it was not properly done. Akira scrambled to his feet. This was the sealing enchantment. Why were they activating it with the explosions this early? Unless. . .

Akira gritted his teeth. That bastard Kamoshida backstabbed him.

Another explosion went off – rocking the castle. Anytime now, they were both going to be conflagrated. More silver dust seeped in from above.

"What's going on?!" cried out Annabelle.

Akira saw she was not moving. The priests' sealing incantation locked her feet on the spot. In that moment, Akira's heart went out to her. This feared, lethal and powerful vampyre was. . .scared.

"They've loaded the floors above us with silver," said Akira, trying to keep his own voice steady despite his own fear.

"Why aren't you running?" asked Annabelle.

The only exit suddenly gushed up a torrent of inferno. Akira was not going through that.

They were both going to die. Kamoshida wanted this.

 _Or. . .does it need two people dying?_ thought Akira; he looked at the dagger, remembering the potency of his curse. The way it would act whenever he was mortally wounded. What if. . .

Annabelle keeled over; a stringy waterfall of silver dust burning onto her back. Amidst the frolicking licks of flames, sterling glints of particles glittered up the air. Akira saw Annabelle's shining tears of hurt mix with blood, as the metal dust ate at her being. She was in a lot of pain.

Annabelle collapsed to the ground, clutching at her sides. Her gasps came out forced, unintentionally pulling in more of the particles, eating at her insides. Annabelle looked up at Akira. They both understood she was done for.

 _Unless. . ._ thought Akira.

Akira bitterly laughed to himself, hooding his eyes. To Annabelle it appeared he had gone mad. Maybe he was, with what Akira intended to do.

"All my struggles to defy the world and its cruelty. Yet it came to this. It's not fair. . .not fair," said Akira.

It would be another 966 years before Annabelle fully understood what Akira meant. His regret.

 _No r_ _ō_ _nin survives his damnation_ , thought Akira.

Akira raised the dagger. Annabelle thought it was going to be for her. To cut her suffering short. She closed her eyes, those damp eyelashes pressing tight.

Akira drove the dagger into his own heart.

On the wall were two shadows. One lying down, curling onto itself. The other had the hilt of a dagger sticking out its chest. The second shadow fell to its knees, dark miasmas of the curse whirling around. His form changed grotesque, into something larger. Beast-like. This hulking mass crawled towards the vampyre's shadow, enveloping her as if too cocoon protectively.

At the floor, the glyphs turned incandescent. From the basement, where hundreds of powder kegs were kept, a spark snipped at a sliver of the explosive substance.

#

Outside, onlookers cowered when the castle exploded, going up in an extraordinary mushroom of a dazzling coloured inferno. Once strong stocky pillars ripped and disintegrated from the force of the detonation core. What was not smashed – turned to crisp and burn, spitting comet-like embers with gunpowder burning in their trails. Everything was laid to waste.

The superstitious ones whispered that they heard the dying wail of a beast, masculine sounding – when the palace went down. Lord Kamoshida proclaimed that this was the dying scream of the vampyre. When the people asked about the rōnin, the daimyō's lieutenants said Akira Kurusu was struck down by the monster when he tried to flee from battle. Further discussion was discouraged by Kamoshida's men, about Kurusu.

Only the Shinto priest Taro dared to chronologize what he thought happened to Akira. He brush-stroked the chronicle of the ill-fated samurai onto a scroll, in hopes that history will not carelessly forget a good man.

* * *

Time: 2:55 PM

Date: Friday. 2016 AD.

Location: High school. Kyoto.

Event: Social Science Class presentation.

.

Crushing. Only his breath was audible to his ears – each respiration hoarse with emptiness. . .

"Amamiya?" said Ms. Yamazaki.

Ren blinked. The heads of his classmates swam back into focus. Puzzled faces.

"Sorry. . .I zoned out," said Ren.

"That's not a good presentation ethic," said Ms. Yamazaki.

Ren rubbed the back of his neck, smiling abashedly. If anyone was looking closely, they would have seen Ren's smile did not reach his eyes.

"Sorry. . ."

Ren clicked the slideshow button. Picture of a complicated looking family tree.

". . .and to cap it off, I am able to trace the genealogy of my family tree to at least 1001 AD," said Ren with an edge of monotone boredom.

He really wanted this day to be over.

Ms. Yamazaki frowned, unimpressed by her student's lack of enthusiasm. Ren saw her note something on the score card. Probably something like "Ren-kun's presentation lacked any diligence and pride of his heritage blah blah. . .", something which Ren could not muster the energy to care for. All Ren could think of was his bed, closing his eyes so he could run away from reality. Ren checked the classroom clock. School bell was about to ring.

"And. . .umm. . .that's the end of my presentation, I guess?" said Ren.

"Hold on a minute, Amamiya. You haven't prompted the class for any questions," Ms. Yamazaki reminded him.

Ren tried not to grimace.

 _Why would they care. . .it's all. . ._ thought Ren.

"Does. . ." Ren began, trying to keep the dullness out of his voice, ". . .anyone have any questions?" he asked.

 _Pointless. None of this matters_ , thought Ren.

One girl raised her hand. Great.

"Yes?" said Ren.

"You said some of your ancestors were samurai? Like – for real?"

That should be brief to answer. Ren checked his notes, referencing between the bullet points he summarised on a loose piece of paper, and his great-grandfather's diary. The pages were yellowed with age yet surprisingly sturdy at the bamboo spine. This diary was treated well from its time.

"Correct. . .there were samurai from my mother's side. The last one sired a bastard child without knowing. He died during the Heian Period," said Ren.

The girl blinked stupidly at Ren.

"Died?"

"Died. Death. Kicked the bucket. The termination of the biological functions. When one's heart stops beating," Ren deadpanned.

Her eyes lit up, as if Ren had said the most enlightening thing.

"Oh!"

Another boy piped:

"What was his name?"

". . .Kurusu Akira," replied Ren.

Ren's eyes flicked to the clock. Another thirty seconds. . .

"How did he die?" asked another student.

". . ."

_How. . .  
_

Behind Ren's eyelids, web pages seared like an after-burn photograph following the camera flash. Pill dosages. Instructions for a knot. Step 1. . .Step 2. . .until you come to the noose itself. The darkness of Ren's bedroom, with only the screen glowing against his blank face. Mum and dad were asleep. The taste of cola. Ren clicked on the next page. Bath tub. Important to keep the water hot. Knife should be brand new. . .better for severing veins. . .Large blocky letters on deep web forums. Threads titled. . .

_How do I die?_

"Dude?" said the same student.

"Amamiya. . ." came Ms. Yamazaki's warning voice.

"I-I'm not. . .I'm not zoning out! I'm still here. . ." said Ren, ". . .I'm still here," Ren repeated in a whisper.

Ren swallowed.

"Umm. . ." Ren hesitated, picking up the diary – pretending to check what was written.

Truth was, Ren remembered the answer but did not believe it. The diary recorded that Akira Kurusu died. . .killing a vampyre? Yeah right.

 _Mum's granddad must have lost his marbles towards the end of his life_ , thought Ren.

No point ending the day with the class laughing over a fairy tale.

"Akira died in battle. He was killed by rogue bandits," lied Ren.

The school bell rang.

* * *

Time: 9:00 PM

Date: Friday. 2016 AD

Location: Construction site. Kyoto.

Event: Annabelle wakes up.

.

The excavator switched off. Yellow cones lined the perimeter of the earth-dug construction site, littered with searchlights on scaffoldings, piles of concrete bags and orange-helmet workers leaving for the night – making after-work plans.

"I'm beat."

"Wanna head to the sake bar, Daisuke?"

"Nah. My wife will kill me if I'm late again."

"Hamada-san! You coming?!"

The man climbing down from the excavator's cockpit called back, "I am! Don't leave me behind, man!"

"Haha! No worries! We'll be here!"

Hamada's work boots made a soft landing thump on the freshly dug earth. Broken rocks and sedimentary soil deformed against the prow of his shoes. Hamada stretched out his arms and legs, trying to ease the stiff tension. He had been sitting in the excavator almost all day, digging up this plot of land. Hamada was annoyed with the civil engineer for insisting on such a deep trench – you would have thought they were trying to find buried dinosaur bones or something.

 _Thump_.

"Hmm?"

Hamada cocked his head towards the source of the noise. It came from the machinery's digging bucket, which rested on a phosphorite-looking rock. The mineral was common in this part of Kyoto's geology. Pebbles crunched on boots walking. Hamada grunted, kneeling at the bucket. A powerful searchlight shined down on where he crouched, creating a column of swirling concrete dust. Hamada blinked, wiping his sweaty brow.

On closer inspection, Hamada realised there was something strange about this "rock". There was a castellated indentation on its surface. Very orderly. Mother nature was usually more chaotic about her assets.

"Odd," muttered Hamada.

"Oiii! Hamada-san!"

 _Ah shit_ , thought Hamada, glancing back. The others were waiting. He looked back at the phosphorite. This was not a big deal. Let the guy working tomorrow's shift on the excavator, worry about this.

"Coming!" Hamada called back.

The construction lot emptied. The fence gate slid shut, an irritating squeal whining from its hinges. Chains sliding. A padlock clicking lock.

Quiet took residence.

The dust column involuting from the "rock" continued its lazy carry towards the sky. Then – the dust particles slowed. As if time was slowing.

 _Thump_ – went the rock.

The particles began to whirl counter-clockwise. Faster into the opposite direction.

 _Thump_.

Fissures began to appear on the sedimentary rock. Like an egg hatching.

 _Thump_ – a weaker one this time; a hint of struggle.

Quiet.

 _THUMP_.

A hand burst out of the rock, smashing through the cavity of the hollow cocoon. Fingers clawed against the full moon's silhouette. More cracks. A second hand scraped out, flailing as if the person was drowning. Both hands grabbed against the teeth of the excavator's bucket. Those forearms trembled, trying to gather strength. Then she pulled herself out, collapsing the phosphorite shell into flakes and dust.

Annabelle gasped and coughed, spitting out minerals and other gunk. Her skin was dry-caked in greyish-black dust. Her yukata was ragged and torn, exposing her left leg and tummy. Thoughts started slow and sluggish, as the vampyre tried to shake off the vestiges of her long sleep.

 _Where are the stars? The sky is void except for the moon. . .the moon. It was crescent when I entered Kamoshida's castle. How did it become full so quick?_ thought Annabelle.

More spitting and coughing. Annabelle blinked, looking about confused. Instead of bamboos and waterfalls, she saw strange structures – lamp posts and scaffoldings, unnaturally still sentinels. A kind of structure? She wondered. Annabelle placed a palm on the excavator. The surface felt cool and hard, like an armour plate. A giant piece of armour? she guessed. Did Kamoshida keep these things in his castle? Where were the debris, anyway?

 _Where's Akira?_ thought Annabelle.

Distant wails of sirens filled the neighbourhood. Annabelle raised her head, like a deer in the meadow. She had never heard anything like that in her life. A monster?

Annabelle's limbs trembled.

 _I'm weak. That explosion of silver and fire must have taken a lot out of me_ , thought Annabelle.

Blood. She needed blood. Maybe Akira could give her. . .where was he? she thought again. Worry and thirst panged her thoughts for the rōnin. She needed to drink from him. . .and make sure he was safe. No no. Wait. That's not how it works! Annabelle thought to herself, annoyed.

 _Urgh. . .this is most inconveniencing_ , thought Annabelle.

The hollow rock Annabelle was cocooned in collapsed further into itself. One of the rock chips fell against a long piece of something, creating a sharp – _Thok_ – sound. Is that. . .?

Annabelle reached for the shadowed elongated object. Her hands grasped around the rusty tachi, from the blade. Annabelle ran her thumb on the rest of the weapon. The edge was so dulled, it did not pierce Annabelle's fingers.

"This is Akira's. . ." murmured Annabelle.

Of course. Those pesky priests blessed the weapon. No wonder it survived the blast. Did that mean Akira was nearby?

Annabelle's vision blurred and dizzied. She clutched her head, feeling a dull throb of pain. Her body felt extremely deprived and dry. Annabelle knew she was not thinking clearly too, in her weakened state. Which made it all the more important for her sink her fangs into a warm neck, as soon as possible.

 _I can use 'that'. It might stretch my reserves, but at least I'll find Akira_ , thought Annabelle.

Annabelle closed her eyes, focusing on Akira's aura. A little trick she picked up when she was in Europe, from another vampyre. Some folks had other names for it. The Gaelic druids called it scrying. The witches in Finland thought it was a kind of divination. The Vikings thought it was a useful tracking spell. Annabelle did not fully understand this vampyre ability of hers; only that when she focused on the person she wished to find, the first thing she "felt" was the scent of their blood. The scents were usually different, person to person. Although family members sometimes shared nuances.

Annabelle frowned. Where was he? A touch of fear and desperation came to her. No. Please no. She did not want to be left behind by the rōnin. Her fangs pressed harder on her lower lip. It was risky, but she would need to expend more energy.

Annabelle focused harder.

It took a full minute. Annabelle's limbs shook even more, to the point where she made herself lean against the giant orange piece of armour.

 _Please. . .Where are you. . ._ thought Annabelle.

A heartbeat echoed.

Yes! She found him!

It was faint – but he was there alright. The scent was a little quirky, but this was definitely Akira. Annabelle opened her eyes. Could she make the distance? Annabelle thought. This was going to be difficult. There were likely warring search parties roaming about, from Kamoshida's army. She would need to be stealthy to avoid detection from the humans.

The sword was an unnecessary burden for her journey, but Annabelle decided to take it with her. Akira would probably be grateful to get back his weapon.

* * *

Time: 10:01 PM.

Date: Friday. 2016 AD.

Location: Cul de sac near Amamiya Residence.

Event: Suicide attempt #1

.

Seraphic hymns and organ music permeated through the church's stone walls, spilling out into the open air of the basilica's grounds. Angel statues with moss and lichen masquerade masks, stared solemnly to the ground, their arms held out in eternity for a ballroom partner to take them into the moonlight. A violin joined the melodies, scintillating otherworldly moods of yearning and loneliness.

Opposite the church grounds was a suburban house. One of its windows peeked a yellow rectangular glow.

Over the faucet running, Ren could distinctly hear the choral chants in his bedroom's bathroom. Was that his welcoming music to the afterlife?

 _Funny_ , thought Ren.

Ren did not believe in consciousness after death. Even if there were, someone like him was unlikely to end up in heaven. . .Coincidentally, there were a lot of religious anti-suicide articles on the webs, when he was researching 'how do I kill myself'. Did the Americans ease their suicide statistics by 'letting Jesus into your heart'? Ren did not know or care.

He turned off the bathtub's running water. Ren felt the temperature. Seemed hot enough. Next came the whiskey. Ren unscrewed the cap off the gloss brown bottle, raising the orifice to his nose. The stuff smelt strong. That took care of further numbing the pain and reducing the chances of last-minute panic. Now all that was-

 _Thump_.

Ren froze – like a deer in the headlights. Was someone knocking at the door? Ren cleared his throat to make sure he sounded normal and jovial.

"Mum? Something up?" Ren called out.

Family dinner had been a normal affair. Dad talking about new expresso machine at work. Mum suggesting that she should start hosting baking classes at home. Nobody said anything about his behaviour. Ren's parents usually left him alone at this time, thinking he was studying.

 _Thump_.

Ren quickly screwed the whiskey and hid it in the cabinet. The bathroom light switched off. Study desk lamp – switched on.

Ren opened his bedroom door.

No one was there. Ren could vaguely hear the TV on, mum probably watching that foreign drama, _Gran Hotel_. Dad was. . .

 _Probably at a love hotel_ , thought Ren.

Goosebumps ran up Ren's back. He shivered, feeling his bedroom was colder than a moment ago. Turning around, Ren saw the curtains fluttering. Did he leave the window open? Well. . .that did not matter.

Ren slowly closed his bedroom door. The lock clicked with a sense of finality. Ren looked around his bedroom with half-hearted resignation. Moonlight spilt into the room, tinting the white sheets, pillow and the walls in a bluish-grey tint. Black silhouettes of Godzilla silently roared at Ren, from the movie posters he hung all those years ago. His best friend introduced him to the kaiju genre. Not a day went by, when Ren did not miss her.

Ren picked up the Jack Frost soft toy which unceremoniously fell off his bed. More mementos of past happiness. Someone important gave it back to him. Ren carefully placed it back on his bed. Everything had been tidied earlier; Ren wanted his death to leave minimal burdens on his parents when he was gone. PC and mobile were factory reset. Laundry was clean and folded. A curt note was written in indifferent tones; listing all his valuables and how much his parents could sell each for, on eBay. Pin codes and passwords. Unspoken reasons and regrets. No personal goodbyes. Only practicality.

Ren's foggy mind almost did not catch his dry sigh. Barely aware – he picked up the half-drunk bottle of Coca Cola from his desk. Ren drowned the rest of it. He dropped the bottle into the bin, with three other 250 MLs consumed earlier today. The secret syrup was probably coalesced into Ren's blood type, thanks to his addiction to sugary misery.

Time to rock and roll dead.

Ren flicked the study lamp off. The bathroom light switched on.

Ren undressed. As he took off his glasses, goosebumps ran up the back of his neck. Ren shook his head. No. No backing out. He thought about the pointers 'Anon432' private messaged him:

_Don't think. Just do. It will be over :)_

A drawer slid open. A shining glint peeked out. There it was. The knife. Carbon-steel, used by professional chefs. Ren ordered it from a culinary website.

The water splashed. Ren settled into the hot bath tub, his eyelashes dampening with the steamy vapours curling around him. At his side was the whiskey. First came the cutting. Ren needed to be sober, so he did not fuck up this part. Ren raised his left hand. Venous green lines laced starkly on the white skin. The blade's edge angled down, closer to his wrist. . .

The knife stopped. An inch shy of slitting the fragile tissue.

Ren frowned. What was this shadow in the water? That was not there one second ago. . .

Ren looked up.

Fangs and blonde curls windswept from the ceiling, down towards him. Ren's mind barely registered _what_ exactly he saw, only that the knife was wrenched off his hand, sent clattering across the washroom. The sound of glass shattering. Whiskey pooled the bathroom floor.

Ren was pushed submerged into the water, inky curls covering his eyes. Ren felt a sharp piercing pain at his neck. Darkness took over. Ren lost consciousness.

* * *

Time: 6:36 AM.

Date: Saturday. 2016 AD.

Location: Ren's bedroom.

Event: Love-starved vampyre acquaints with suicidal teenager.

.

Warmth. Saturday morning's spring was cheerful. Outside the bedroom window, a male robin chirruped in the warm glow of the rising sun, its tiny red chest puffing against the pink petals on the branch. After a while, a female robin settled onto the branch, swaying the woody forking. This startled the male robin.

Waking up was usually a slow graduation for Ren. With his own mind being the enemy, Ren was always trying to escape from reality in anyway he could. Sleeping excessively had been one of his strategies in the past months. The more he could sleep, the more he could 'Turn off' reality. The evolution of his hyposomnia turned to thinking of a permanent arrangement. . .

This morning was different.

Ren's eyes flew open. His eyes distinctively adjusted to the darkness. This was the pattern of his bed quilt pulled over him. More than that, there was something pressed on him, atop the duvet.

 _I'm not in the bathtub_ , thought Ren.

Hospital? Was Ren discovered before he could bleed out to death? Hospitals did not cocoon patients like this though.

From the unseen the distance, Canadian rock blasted at an inconsiderate volume. That was Saturday morning custom for the Amamiya's foreign neighbours. The family's thirteen-year-old daughter discovered Sum 41 last week.

 _I'm still at home_ , thought Ren. In his bedroom.

Ren shifted. The weight above him shifted in tandem. Ren stilled. Was there another person above the quilt? Ren wriggled his unmarked hands up and slipped the comforter's hemline down.

The morning light burned bright into his retinas. Ren involuntarily squeezed his eyes shut. He blinked sporadically, trying to see. Like a camera shutter flickering. First shot was bright; someone's head with a burning halo at her head. The exposure dialled down as his pupils adjusted. More snaps. Blue eyes. Blonde strands. Fingers reaching out to his lips, prying his lower lip. The girl withdrew her hand, tilting her head inquisitively.

Those grey eyes steadied on the blonde girl. Ren noted the dried blood at her lips. The hint of fangs poking out. From where Ren could see, she was dressed sartorially dyslexic in his own wardrobe. Sock on her left hand. Somehow, she pulled off wearing his wide-collared hoodie upside-down. Her shoulders were bare.

". . ."

". . ."

To Annabelle, Ren looked like a softer version of Akira. Younger and unscarred. His eyes were different too. Akira's were grey steel of fierce determination. This one's grey reminded Annabelle of overcast clouds. Hazed and somewhat out-of-focus. When he spoke, he voice was pleasantly dulcet, unlike Akira's gravelly deepness:

"Who are you?"

"Annabelle Camarilla Electro-Shot Eclair Takamaki."

Ren blinked.

"That's a long name," said Ren.

Ren did not understand why, but saying that drew a curtain of filmy tears in Annabelle's eyes. She nodded.

"I know. That's what Akira told me," said Annabelle.

Hold on a minute.

"Akira. . .?" asked Ren.

"Yes. The samurai. Your ancestor-" Annabelle turned her head to the left, at Ren's desk. That was where Ren left his family tree chart unfurled, "-I read the diary. What that priest scribed. That horrible night. . .I'm the vampyre he tried to kill. Except. . .he was betrayed by that vile Kamoshida. . ."

Those azure opals lowered; Ren realised there was something unnatural about Annabelle's eyes. Her pupils looked as if it had filaments of stardust glittering in the blue.

". . .that night, Akira transformed into. . .something. I'm not sure what it was. But he saved my life. When I woke up, I thought it was still the Heian Period. I was mistaken. While you were unconscious, I went through the other 'scrolls' in your bedroom. It's 2016, isn't it? I came to your home after tracking your aura and. . ." Annabelle's voice became smaller, ". . .drank some of your blood because I was really thirsty," said Annabelle.

". . ."

Maybe Ren did die. Who knew the afterlife was going to have gorgeous women who were completely bonkers?

"What were you doing in that 'stone bath'? Were you trying to harm yourself?" asked Annabelle.

 _He looks annoyed with me_ , thought Annabelle.

* * *

Time: 7:25 AM

Date: Monday. 2016 AD.

Location: Pedestrian walkway on a downhill.

Event: Suicide attempt #2

.

"Why – are you following me?" asked Ren.

A few metres behind Ren, Annabelle walked eyes cast downwards, hands frontal fidgeting. She was adorned in a simple white dress (where she got it, Ren was not sure – but it looked suspiciously similar to the one on a local boutique store's catalogue cover, Ren had seen his mother browse. Coincidentally, there was a reported break-in there during the weekend) which she managed to look quite dashing in, attracting curious and interested looks from the construction workers they passed by earlier.

"I'm. . .I'm not following you, human! Hmph. We just happen to share similar journeys, that's all," said Annabelle.

"Yeah right," muttered Ren, slinging up his schoolbag on his shoulder.

Annabelle anxiously eyed the back of the brunet's head. Waking up in this strange world, this strange time, she felt reluctant to be left alone. Most of all, the imprint of Akira's sacrifice haunted her so deeply; seeing his uncanny likeness in Ren made a solitudinarian like Annabelle want to be around him. . .for a hundred years. Normally for vampyres, that was about as transient as yawning, but not necessarily for Annabelle since she missed 966 years of her life.

Annabelle cursed Kamoshida's memory again. That bastard made her became an old lady at 1000 years old while being conscious for _only_ 34 years. She hoped that stupid warlord died of the plague.

Since Ren's Friday night plans were ruined by Annabelle, he was now burdened with attending classes on this dreary Monday morning – walking to school.

 _Now that I think about it. . .it's around this time that delivery truck makes it round to the supermarket downtown_ , thought Ren.

A self-destructive idea took form in Ren's mind. The road here was on a downhill incline, which would make it harder for the lorry to brake _if someone_ were to jump in the way at the last moment-

"Hey. Thanks for letting me stay at your home during the weekend," said Annabelle.

Not looking back, Ren said, "It wasn't really a choice."

"Why is that?" Annabelle asked innocent-like.

"Because you refused to leave when I asked you to."

"True."

"Because you threatened to tell my parent I tried to bleed myself out to death."

"Yeap. Yeap."

" _Because_ you're making this ludicrous claim of being a vampyre and I have not way of explaining to people how a half-naked nutjob ended up in my bedroom, without the police snooping around and discovering traces of my blood in the washroom," huffed Ren.

"That's righ – Hey! Ludicrous? Excuse me, I am not lying. I was turned by Vladmir when I was sixteen," insisted Annabelle.

If his mental state was not so depressive, Ren would have rolled his eyes.

"If you're going to lie about a fictional backstory, at least don't make it cliché," said Ren.

"It's true! How do you explain those bruises on your neck?" Annabelle shot back.

"Easy. A weirdo like you must have done things to me in flagrante delicto, while I was out-cold," said Ren.

The accusation warmed Annabelle's cheeks (poetically) with Ren's blood. Resisting the urge to stomp a crater on the concrete pavement (lest she attracted the wrong attention), Annabelle seethed:

"You are impossible."

Ren's shoulders tensed when he heard the distinctive diesel growl of the lorry. Finally. The delivery truck's downhill acceleration was nigh. Casually, Ren drooped his schoolbag to hang by the side as he walked. Once the truck was near, it was – drop and jump. This suicide was going to be messier than Ren preferred. Probably some pain will be there too. But at least it will get the job done.

"You know. . .maybe you could show me around, so I can catch up to the times," said Annabelle.

Why did she have to be so distracting? thought Ren. Vampyre cuckoo banter aside, Annabelle's sin coveting beauty fired up Ren's teenage hormones to the max. Being horny and depressed was the most basic bitch thing, a basic bitch like him could be.

It did not help that Annabelle would low-key get touchy with Ren, during his hyposomnia naps (why she craved physical contact – he had no clue). Cuppings and caresses behind his ear lobe, on his clavicle – dipping beneath his clothes. . .Ren would wake up with a hard-on and Annabelle whispering "Sorry," before he drifted back to woolly sleeps. Strange girl.

Ren focused his hearing on the truck's engine noise whining louder.

"Sure. I'll take you out for some ice cream tomorrow," Ren bluffed.

Louder.

"Ice cream? What's that?" asked Annabelle.

Loud enough.

Ren turned his gaze back to confirm the truck was close enough. The bag dropped, billowing a faint cloud puff of micro-dusts visible to Annabelle's widening eyes. Ren leapt onto the road.

A murder of crows took off to the sky, disturbed by the sounds of tyres screeching, metal tearing, a very large object flipping like a toy, and the silent scream of one very shook (but alive), Ren Amamiya.

* * *

Time: 6:08 PM.

Date: Thursday. 2016 AD.

Location: Rooftop of mega-complex shopping mall.

Event: Suicide attempt #5

.

Running footsteps. Panting. Ren looked behind, over his shoulder. An empty vertexing stairwell. Looks like he managed to lose her. The exit door came up. Ren threw out his palms out in front of him, pushing them open. Peak points of the shopping district burst into view.

Ren skidded to a stop, the soles of his Windsor Smiths squealing on the rooftop tarmac. Ren rounded to his right. Was she here? The 11th-story altitude wind picked up, flapping the unzipped collar-line of his windbreaker jacket.

Not there. Ren checked other side. This place was empty. Good.

Ren turned his gaze to the front. The misting rain cooled his face, clouding his glasses. Should he take them off before he jumped?

 _Not necessary_ , he thought.

Ren took a deep breath, bending his knees. A moment's hesitation. This was the fifth time he was trying this. Annabelle kept thwarting his attempts to kill himself. . .

 _Stop. Don't hesitate. Just do it_ , Ren told himself.

Ren stepped over to the edge, his white sneakers tipping slightly over the cornice. Vertigo dipped his sense of depth, making the ant-like cars far below, look distorted. The humans' top-view were like speckle specks of paint dots, moving about the ground's canvass.

Ren intended to add a touch to red to that painting.

Ren closed his eyes, spreading his hands out in a cross. Solid beneath. One footing place ahead on the empty space. Into free fall he went.

Gravity accelerated velocity. Wind-pockets whipped through his hair and into the orifices of his clothes. Ren kept his eyes closed. The irretrievability to impact should be less than something like 10 seconds, right? Ren waited for the end.

. . .

. . .

Ren frowned, his eyes still screwed shut. This fall was kinda long.

. . .

. . .

. . .

 _Okay, what is going_ – Ren opened his eyes– . . . _on. . .?_ he thought.

The panel windows of the shopping mall were film reeling in slow motion. Through the glass, Ren saw a fat boy licking ice cream, slowly lapping up the jelly tip. The kid's pupils dragged to the outside, seeing an upside-down teenager in free-fall. The widening registering of his eyelids were slow on the turn – to Ren.

"When are you buying me ice cream?" Annabelle hushed into his ear.

There she was, 'standing' akimbo in the same pocket fall with Ren. Annabelle raised her chin – haughty, drawing it in level with Ren's lower lip. Those iridescent golden eyelashes fluttered above her pretty oculars of lazuline. Ren tore his eye contact out of those powerfully ancient eyes, doing a second take at what was happening.

It was as if the world around them was sluggishly slow. While Annabelle and him were in a bubble dimension where time was still working.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"I've tricked your mind's sense of time. One of my powers. It's going to feel like forty minutes before you touch the ground, hehe," said Annabelle.

Still upside-down, Ren folded his arms, disapproving.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" said Ren.

"These moments of thwarting your felo-de-se attempts, do give me an iota of satisfaction."

"Are you even going to let me splat, at the end of that fortieth minute?"

Annabelle twirled one of her blonde curls, her lips drawing into a pout in pretend-think.

"Umm. . .probably not. I'm kind of hungry right now. Like. . .the vampyre hungry, y'know?" said Annabelle.

She leaned closer to Ren, their lips almost brushing inversive. Annabelle breathed his scent in. Ren smelt like that dark fizzy water she noticed he liked to consume. That was good. Annabelle found that Ren's blood was tastier when he was concentrated in the stuff.

Annabelle's fingers gingerly touched hickey-like scar on Ren's neck. The past week, Ren had become her doleful blood-bag, slumping uncaringly against her bosom as Annabelle happily fed. Ren was her most compliant victim in undead memory. When he asked Annabelle if she could sip him to death, she snapped, 'Not in your favourite nightmares!'.

Annabelle's fangs unsheathed. As they sunk into the soft neck, Ren moaned before he could stop himself. There was a dull aching pressure of pain mixed with a tingling ecstatic-like sensation. Annabelle explained to him that female vampyres had a femme fatale venom in their fangs, which did that to their victim.

"I can't believe this is happening to me," Ren muttered.

* * *

Time: 1:22 PM.

Date: Saturday. 2016 AD.

Location: Amamiya Residence

Event: Suicide attempt #8

.

"Ren, do you know what happened to all the kitchen knives?" asked his mum.

Ren sullenly fork poked at his broccoli.

"No. What happened?" asked Ren.

"They've all been twisted out of shape. Blunted too. I don't know what could have done that," said Mrs. Amamiya, holding out a cleaver that got rolled like a sardine lid.

Ren despondently chewed the greens, noting how his mother's eyes glazed unfocused over Annabelle sitting next to him. That was called 'compulsion', which Annabelle used on both his parents, so she could walk about the house freely. Another trick on the vague list of abilities vampyres allegedly had.

"Why don't you tell you mother you're unwell?" asked Annabelle.

Mrs. Amamiya continued to fuss over the ruined kitchen utilities, as if Ren was the only other person there.

"I've never been close to my parents," muttered Ren.

"What was that sweetie?" asked Mrs. Amamiya.

"Nothing, mum."

Ren waited for his mother to turn her back to him. From the innocuous position of leaving his fork laden on his plate, Ren drove the utensil towards his Adam's apple. Annabelle airily thwacked the utensil out of his hand, as if she was swatting a fly. Mrs. Amamiya jumped at the sound of the fork clattering against the kitchen cabinet.

"Ren!" chided his mother.

". . .sorry. My hand slipped," said Ren.

Ren went to retrieve his fork. Annabelle called out to him cheerily:

"Don't even think about trying it from there. I am _very_ fast."

Mrs. Amamiya gave her son an odd look before leaving the kitchen to tend to the laundry outside.

"You're so steeped on me not kicking the bucket, why not just compel me to live on?" Ren bit back.

"I can force human willpower. Not their emotions. Would you still be alive, if you went day to day, feeling numb? It would be worse than sleepwalking," said Annabelle.

Ren shook his head like 'whatever'.

"I'm guessing dying wasn't all that popular back in your time?" said Ren.

Annabelle dropped her gaze. She thought about Akira.

"No. . .hundreds of years ago, dying for your liege was honour. Being murdered was culture. Suicide was an institution. . .maybe it's because I saw so much unneeded death then-" Annabelle raised her eyes to Ren, "-I don't want to see you throw yours away," she said.

"Whoever it is I remind you of Annabelle, I'm not that person. I'm sorry, but saving me won't bring him back," said Ren.

"You think that's why I'm doing this?"

"What else?"

"It's because I care for you!"

A lump formed in Ren's throat. Ren blinked away the blurriness in his vision.

"Don't you fucking dare say that to me. . ." whispered Ren.

The chair plunked back. Annabelle strode to Ren who in turn, backed up against the kitchen sink. Annabelle reached out, tenderly wiping at his eyes. Ren blinked in shame over the spillage of his feelings in-front of Annabelle.

" _A crying child thrives_ ," said Annabelle.

"Yeah, I know. Only babies cry, guys aren't supposed to-"

"No. . .no. . .sshh. It's a proverb from long ago. The villagers would say it. You're healing, Ren."

More fat tears spilt down his cheeks. Ren bowed down his head, unable to fight the dam anymore. Annabelle pulled him into a hug.

"You're okay. . .everything's going to be okay. . ." Annabelle crooned, stroking his messy hair.

"Damnit Ann," sobbed Ren.

_!_

"What did you say. . ." said Ann.

Ren kept sobbing.

"Ren?"

"I said you're too heavy."

Ann smacked him. Lightly of course, since he was such a fragile thing. Maybe Ann could change that. . .

* * *

Time: Midnight.

Date: 2017 AD.

Location: A coffin. Kyoto.

Event: A young man wakes up undead to his big titty goth girlfriend. Love becomes immortal.

-End-

**Author's Note:**

> Suicide hotlines:
> 
> Australia: 1311 14
> 
> New Zealand: 0800 543 354
> 
> Mexico: 5255 102 550
> 
> United Kingdom: 0845 790 9090
> 
> USA: 1800 273 8255
> 
> Canada: 5147 234 000 (Montreal); 1866 277 3553 (outside Montreal)
> 
> Bosnia & Herzegovina: 080 05 03 05
> 
> Brazil: 188 for the CVV National Association
> 
> Belgium: 106
> 
> Philippines: 0289 691 91
> 
> Sweden: 4631 711 2400
> 
> Switzerland: 143
> 
> Japan: +8103 528 69090
> 
> Two weeks after I began writing this piece, I received news that my cousin was struck by an out-of-control vehicle bypassing red, as she was crossing the pedestrian walk with her friend. The impact resulted in both of these university students being ambulance-rushed to the E.R.
> 
> Being told she was fighting for her life in the hospital, I remembered thinking to myself how she was one of those people who always tried a lot harder in life, than me. Less privileged background, yet she was able to achieve a prestigious scholarship. Always had the best grades. Always…wittier, kinder and happier than me. Then all of a sudden, her young life was threatened to be cut short by something so needless.
> 
> Eight hours after the accident, we were able to get confirmation that she was going to live and make a somewhat stable recovery. Living is precious yo. Depression or not, ya gotta cherish each passing day.


End file.
